A Writer’s Walk
With each stride, there is a quickening of pace
The serenity of the pitter-patter of feet touching the pavement
I see birds tousling and wonder what ails their friendship
I ponder as I continue on my writer’s walk
There is a limit to my journey
But my possibilities seem endless
Each breath of air makes my imagination come alive
To see an end is to believe a beginning
Butterflies circle my head
As ideas float around my ears
I glance backwards, observing my distance
Pretending my pride isn’t affecting my stance
Loud whispers, gentle screams
I wish for AI that translates thoughts into text
My download is as slow as a dial-up
With each inscription, I manage to grab
My inspiration comes from my breath
Each pulse ignited my hungry mind
I wish I could dream, I dream I can
My ebbing of nature whispering tales as tall as the wind
Can you make sense of the wind?
Do they come bearing treats?
Or maybe they bring messages from another kin
I wish I could tap into a cosmic translation
My walk must surely bear fruit
I see a squirrel, I think of its deception
I wonder why it’s peering at me as if I am foe
Darting through trees yet maintaining my gaze
As a car woosh past, I wonder about the occupants
Going about their day like a possession of ants
Makes me wonder how far they have come
To watch a writer’s walk
